Boss
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: McGee gets used to his surroundings. Post Judgment Day, with non plotty details from Last Man Standing.


Disclaimer: Boo. That should scare off the lawyers.

Spoilers: _Last Man Standing_, but it's minor. It's more of an immediate post _Judgment Day_ fic, if we'd met McGee's new co-workers before JD ended.

Summary: McGee gets accustomed to his new surroundings.

* * *

McGee glanced around the room as he stepped out of the stairwell with his standard used copy paper moving box, which he had packed the previous day as a gesture of solidarity. He could have taken his time, reported for his new position today and gone back for his things anytime, but, even with Abby staring at him with tearful eyes as she shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, he hadn't stopped. If Tony and Ziva had to clean out their desks, so did he. The only really awkward moment had come at the end of the day when he'd left the box on his desk and had to run back for it so as not to be the odd man out during the elevator ride.

He readjusted the box on his hip to stop it from pushing his weapon into his side as he looked around. He had been to the cyber crimes unit before, but he hadn't noticed how drab and gray it was. He glanced up at the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling, the main source of illumination in the…were the walls really made of cinderblocks? He suspected he had never missed staring mindlessly out at the Anacostia River as much as he would today. Or from now on. At least his feelings were consistent across the board.

He exhaled forcefully and cleared his throat to announce his presence to the two men crouched over a file folder on at a computer workstation. The smaller, pastier one of the two hastily slapped his hands over what appeared to be a photo, trying to conceal it. "We, uh, we were just…"

"Quit it!" The heavier one with glasses swatted him on the shoulder. "What Pringle meant to say is what do you want?"

"But I would have said it in a more polite way, like, 'Can I help you with something?'" Pringle protested.

McGee looked at them both warily, but said, "I'm Special Agent Tim McGee. I've been assigned to this unit. Director Vance ordered me to report to Officer Holtzman this morning."

"He's…"

"…in his office," the man with glasses interrupted. "I'm Dallas, by the way. Sheldon Dallas."

Pringle pushed forward again and attempted to relive McGee of his box. "I can take that for you while you're meeting with Officer Holtzman. And I'm Marvin Pringle."

"Thanks, Pringle, but I think I'll hold onto to it for now." He stepped toward a hallway on the opposite side of the long, dreary room. "Holtzman's office is down this way?"

"Last door on the right," Dallas offered, causing Pringle to look very put out.

McGee sighed and walked to the appropriate door, which opened into an office that matched the rest of the unit. He tapped on the frame lightly. "Officer Holtzman?"

The man who looked up from his computer screen looked exactly like McGee would have expected – pale, balding, and bespectacled. He mentally scheduled an extra session at the gym and possibly an appointment with the tanning salon. Who knew how long he was going to be trapped down here? He reached out and shook Holtzman's hand. "You must be McGee. Call me Bernie."

Naturally. "I'm, um, looking forward to, um…"

"You don't have to pretend you're thrilled to be working down here on the shores of the Styx."

The classical reference caught him off guard. "Well, I…"

"I'll tell you straight up that it's a different kind of excitement down here, and it'll probably take some getting used to, what with you being a field agent and all. I've looked at the material Personnel sent me about you and I have no doubt that you won't have any trouble with the work, not with your background and experience."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

"I said call me Bernie. And I know you will." He squeezed through the small space that separated his desk from the wall. "Did you meet Frick and Frack out there?"

McGee replied with a diplomatic, "Briefly."

"Little lacking in social graces, but they get the job done, generally." Holtzman led the way back into the main room. "You'll have the big desk. Any questions, feel free to ask any of us. No secrets here, except the classified ones, of course." He gave a braying laugh that required McGee to exert all his willpower to avoid wincing. "Why don't you take a few moments to settle in, then?"

"I'd actually like to get right to work, if that's all right."

Holtzman winked. "Just take a few minutes."

McGee nodded and sat at his new desk. Within the few seconds it took him to transfer his electronic datebook and email links to his desktop, Pringle and Dallas were lurking nearby. "Is there something I can do for you two?"

A short round of shoving and denials occurred between the men before Pringle blurted out, "You're really a field agent?"

"Yes."

Dallas crept around the corner of the workstation. "And you carry a gun?"

Against his better judgment, McGee leaned back in his seat and pushed his jacket back to display his badge and SIG.

Pringle and Dallas were duly impressed, but Pringle took it a step too far. "Have you ever shot a bad guy?"

He stiffened. "Maybe you two should get back to whatever you were doing before, hm?"

They both grinned. Dallas said, "It wasn't strictly work-related, although rumor has it she works here."

He withdrew the file folder from his sport coat and handed it to McGee. He was surprised to see the photo of Ziva in a bikini that had almost caused Tony to…but he hadn't meant to imply…it had just come out wrong and… He swallowed hard. "Where did you get this?"

Pringle giggled. "Reinhart in the evidence locker was logging photos and found it. She's pretty, isn't she?" Rather than simply asking for agreement, the question seemed to be a genuine one.

McGee didn't answer, snatching the familiar photo out of the file. "If I ever catch you two looking at this again, I'll…" he searched for the proper phrase and came up with a Gibbs-esque, "I'll kick your asses."

"You…you don't like girls in bikinis?" Dallas asked with some confusion.

"I don't like you leering at my friend." He saw a shredder and fed the picture into it without hesitation. Why hadn't it bothered him when Tony had made the same picture his wallpaper? Well, Tony had done it to annoy Ziva, but still…it had been a good distraction for a few minutes the day before Director Shepard's funeral. McGee hung his head as he remained in front of the shredder.

Pringle didn't seem to understand that now was not the time to ask, "You really know her?"

"Yes." McGee slowly walked across the room back to his new desk. "In fact, I'll have her kick your asses."

"Do we…do we want that?"

"Trust me, Pringle, you don't."

A moment later, Dallas, still hovering, asked, "Do you always dress so formal?"

McGee smoothed the tie he'd worn with one of his favorite suits, a navy blue wool Hugo Boss he'd purchased for book signings. In spite of the circumstances, making a good first impression on his new colleagues had been on his mind when he'd dressed that morning. "I don't always wear a tie, if that's what you're asking."

"But you wear a suit?"

"I'm not here to impose a dress code, Dallas."

"Right." He moved a few steps away to where Pringle had taken refuge at their workstation. "Do all field agents wear suits?"

"It depends."

Holtzman suddenly appeared in the room. "Director Vance wants to see you, Agent McGee. Apparently he sent you over here for some special assignment that he needs to brief you on personally."

As McGee stood and buttoned his coat, Pringle was in his personal space. "Wow, boss, you know the Director? What's he like?"

"Don't call me boss."

Pringle backed away. "Sorry, boss."

As McGee headed for the stairwell, he could hear Dallas and Pringle arguing about whose idea it had been to refer to him as 'boss.' He had the feeling that was going to be the least jarring thing to which he would have to acclimate. The sunlight outside the building was bright. He decided that on his way to Director Vance's office he could stop at his desk to pick up one of the items he'd 'forgotten.'


End file.
